


Always With Me, Always With You

by RainbowCosmos



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, M/M, Spoilers to 159, sappy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:20:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22291705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowCosmos/pseuds/RainbowCosmos
Summary: Touch was what Jon needed to feel like you were real, were present, were going to stay with him in reality.You needed sound. The ambient noise that made up the real world was what really made it obvious that you weren't still trapped in the stifling fog of The Lonely.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 4
Kudos: 68





	Always With Me, Always With You

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another 2nd person pov fic because it's easier than writing 3rd person about two people who have the same pronouns.
> 
> Yet another Martin pov fic because I LOVE HIM!
> 
> Warning: brief discussion of anxiety and panic attacks.

The first thing that broke through the veil of The Lonely was noise.

It came back slowly, an analogue progression, seeping back in, louder and louder like something was very gradually unblocking your ears. The sounds of the birds outside, muffled at first by the thick layer of fog in your mind, and then just by the institute’s walls. The sound of Rosie typing away down the hallway, long nails clacking on the keys in a way that you’d always enjoyed listening to. The sound of Jon breathing heavily beside you, kind of winded from your departure.

The next thing that came back was your sense of warmth, allowing you to slowly realise just how cold you were, your skin freezing except for where Jon kept you anchored with a warm hand clasping your own. You’d realised gradually that the heel of your hand was starting to get sore, as though Jon had been rubbing that exact same spot with his thumb for your entire journey out, trying to stimulate some- any- feeling back into you.

Touch was what Jon clung to, going forward.

It was what he needed to feel like you were real, were present, were going to stay with him in reality. Jon stuck by your side, always with you from those first moments outside The Lonely, stood wordlessly in the institute’s hallway as you regained your grip on the world, one sense at a time. Jon took you home, to your own flat, and you supposed it should be a good sign that you felt a little embarrassed to have Jon see the mess your place had become. You don’t think he ever let go of your hand up until the moment he tried to make you a cup of tea. Even then, he pulled you close and leaned against you with his whole body as both of his hands were occupied trying to open your sugar jar.

The two of you had spent the evening huddled up on your cheap sofa, pressed even closer than the admittedly small couch usually necessitates. You’d sat there, legs tangled together just a little, under a big blanket that shed fibers onto your clothing, discussing your next moves. You’re not surprised that Jon had a contingency plan for “we’re being hunted by supernatural murderers”. Jon’s not surprised that you have access to Peter’s financials to make the trip as easy as possible. You’d fallen asleep like that, resting soundly for the first time since… well, maybe since Jane Prentiss, if you’re being honest. And the way you were still tangled together when you woke up in the morning- back stiff, heart full- made you think that Jon hadn’t let you detach at any point through the night.

Driving to Scotland, Jon’s need for physical touch hadn’t seemed to let up at all. Sitting in your mother’s old, small, yellow junker, he mindlessly laid a hand on your leg as you took the first shift driving. When you changed over at the midpoint, he’d seemed so tense, so on edge that for a moment, you thought something was terribly wrong. But then you noticed that he kept reaching over to you whenever it was safe to keep one hand off the wheel. You’d laid one of your own hands on his leg, and it was like you’d drained all the tension from him through that one point of contact. Because Jon needed touch to know that you were  _ here. _

You didn’t need touch, particularly. You needed  _ sound. _

The Lonely had been so silent, so stifling. While touching Jon was a warm reminder that he was with you, the ambient noise that made up the real world was what really made it obvious that you weren’t…  _ there _ anymore.

That first night had been easy, Jon had been so talkative. You’d always loved his voice, his deep tones that were so beguiling that you would happily sit for hours if he were reading the phonebook aloud. Even when you began to drift into silence, his fingers tracing intricate patterns into the soft skin of your palm, you could still hear London outside the window. The traffic would never quiet no matter the hour, the remnants from today’s rain dripping steadily onto your windowsill, the distant, muffled drone of the lovely lady in the apartment next door who honestly snored loudly enough that you think she should get tested for sleep apnea.

The car ride was just as simple. The two of you talked, sure, chatted about the goings-on of your months apart. But even in the moments where you lapsed into comfortable silence, the old cassette played through the car’s speakers, a repetitive mix of the same 8 songs because the tape had gotten stuck in there about a decade ago. And behind that was the contented hum of the engine. It was small and it was old, but it handled the high speeds like a champ, and only knocked and pinged when you turned the a/c on. As much as those noises probably should have stressed you out, every additional layer of sound only added more comfort.

You weren’t ready for how quiet the highlands were. Well, you suppose you absolutely should have seen it coming. But it wasn’t until the evening, the two of you standing before the fridge, contemplating what to have for dinner, Jon’s arm wrapped around your back, that the silence enveloped you. 

And it was likely being plunged back into The Lonely again. And you crumpled to the floor, right there in the kitchen. It was like you couldn’t breathe, like you were enveloped in that all-consuming fog once more. All you could hear was your pulse rushing through your ears, much faster than you thought it ought to be.

Jon was what pulled you out of it, of course. Ironically, it was his ceaseless talking, crowding close to you, asking you endlessly what was wrong. Which, at any other point in time, would  _ not _ have helped with a panic attack, you’re  _ certain _ . But being surrounded by that noise, sounds made by another person, it grounded you once more.

Jon hadn’t needed much explanation at all before he leapt up and crossed the room to play some music through his phone’s speakers. He reassured you as he came back to you, that although Daisy may not have a television here, the two of you can go into town tomorrow and pick up a radio, with both a wall plug and backup batteries so you’d never have to be without it. Maybe bluetooth capabilities so you can play your favourite music? He wasn’t sure what you could find in such a small town, but he was certain he could find you something. He was rambling, and you loved him for it.

And then he grabbed your hand again, and you realised that he had let go of you. Jon had stopped touching you for a long moment so that he could get sound playing through his phone on the other side of the room. And it looks like he hadn’t even noticed it. Hadn’t questioned, for even a second, giving up his grounding comfort, because you needed yours.

You pulled him close, buried his face gently into your chest, and wrapped both arms around him tightly. You felt him deflate in your arms as the tinny music swelled around the two of you. The music held you, each beat keeping you present and comfortably surrounded by reality, just as much as your embrace was doing for Jon.

Jon peered up at you, arms thrown around your neck. “Martin.” He whispered. A full sentence in one word. The sound was so soft but it echoed through you louder than any other; you felt it rushing through your body, lighting your nerve endings and making you  _ feel _ in a way that was completely antithetical to everything The Lonely stood for. 

“Jon.” You replied, and wove a hand into his hair as he pushed his face once again into the soft wool of your sweater.

And so the two of you stood, swaying lightly, in the kitchen of a strange safehouse, touching from head to toe, and humming gently along to the music.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so this was inspired by this song [ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VI57QHL6ge0 ] because I pictured them dancing to it in the kitchen.
> 
> Second fanfic for this fandom, second songfic. I'm noticing a trend. Anyway hmu if u wanna talk fanon, ily.


End file.
